Where The Bee Sucks
by Colours Doyle
Summary: To live in a world where everything must be certain and everything must be in a straight line, life becomes obsolete. Inspector Javert had a simple but demanding, harsh theme to his life. Never once did he falter, never had he felt the stinging swell in his chest, never a breath of light did he shine, never once did the man smile. Javert/OC
1. Chapter I

She licked the honey from her fingers, her tongue pink and small and the honey a translucent dark orange, rich and sticky, dripping steadily from the honey comb in her hands. The liquid settled into a small jar that she sealed tightly when the comb ran dry and placed it next to seven others.

"You quite done with those, Guenièvre?" Pascal, the Indian floral shop owner, drawled as he flipped through his delivery book, "You've got three deliveries to get to this afternoon."

"I'm just about done, monsieur, just one more comb and I'll be finished." Guenièvre hurriedly began the process of removing the honey from the comb as Pascal watched her, regretting his decision to let the young assistant sell her honey in the flower shop. "Remember, while I am gone: one franc for a jar and three francs for four. Have you got that?"

Pascal smiled slightly and nodded, "Yes, now go before you run behind, girl."

Guenièvre smiled herself and picked up the large basket of flowers and the delivery booklet and was out the door. The sun was out, but still hidden in the distance and cast shadows on all the street marketers as they set up their carts and greeted Guenièvre with a smile, a wave, or a small "bonjour." She'd smiled back and watched for the small children that played around her and tugged on her skirt and shoal.

Two sets(dozens) of pink roses were to be sent to Madame Méliés, two bushels of lavender for Madame Barsanti and her herb shop, and wisterias for a young lady called Michelle ordered by a young admirer. Guenièvre adored every moment of seeing the look on people's faces when they were presented with beautiful flowers and relished the look in their eyes with they smelled them, at least the ones that kept their eyes open and didn't indulge completely. She often wished she would be sent flowers, but Pascal's shop being the only one on this side of Paris she'd only sadly be delivering them to herself.

On her way back to the shop Guenièvre's foot caught in a small pot hole in the street and she stumbled forward, nearly falling, but she caught her footing and adjusted herself as she looked on down the street. Two officers in royal blue strode down the street, a few people behind them watched them with frightened eyes while others merely ignored them and went on with their business in the market. Guenièvre watched them as they approached the corner she stood at, waiting for a few people to move so she could cross the street. And as she was crossing the street at her leisure one of the officers knocked into her, sending her backwards a step. She glanced back at him and received nothing as an apology, not even a "pardon" but the back of his head, trimmed and mousy brown hair.

"Excuse-moi." She mumbled to herself and made her way slowly back to the floral shop.

It was nearly noon and that meant Pascal was to do the afternoon deliveries and Guenièvre was to mind to the shop, a part of the day that was the most dull, especially on a sad Monday afternoon where the weather was nice yet she was stuck inside behind a desk, doodling this week's flower arrangement to stifle her boredom. After over a year of these afternoons she had become quite good at sketching, she even bound herself a sketchbook and kept it with her whenever she went out. Occasionally she even sketched people too, but it was merely a hobby and therein her occupation was set as the floral shop's assistant, and she was fine with that for the moment.

A few days passed and Guenièvre had been growing increasingly more and more sad as they went though she did not know why such a feeling had taken over her. Even Pascal had noticed a huge difference in her personality.

"Has something happened, dear?" He had asked, and Guenièvre just shook her head.

"No." She had said, "Nothing at all." Her eyes would watch her unmoving hands on the countertop as Pascal sighed, jingling the bell above the door as he left.

The next day Guenièvre had twice as many orders as her usually delivery and was nearly reduced to tears by the end of her route after facing two angry customers who's flowers had been slightly flattened by the other bouquets resting on top of them. And even though she apologized profusely, they refused to pay and threw the flowers back in her face. She would have to pay for the peonies from her own pocket, and Pascal charged a handsome sum for such stems.

And so she solemnly walked back to the shop, running her fingers across some of the buds and the pink pedals, at least she could give them to her bees, she thought. Her eyes stayed focused on them as she felt a sadness creep its way in through the neglected flowers into her and she felt her heart ache for so many things that she didn't have the slightest clue what of.

As Guenièvre swam deeper into her thoughts she ran into someone and fell back at the impact that sent her flower basket and it's contents onto the road. She heard a deep sigh above her and she looked up and saw a hand in front of her. After grabbing her flowers Guenièvre grabbed the man's hand, her fingers brushing the stiff edge of his sleeve, her eyes followed the black as it turned to blue and she jumped slightly, realizing it was an officer that had knocked her off her feet.

"Excuse-moi, monsieur. I'm terribly sorry, I wasn't looking at where I was going." Guenièvre's eyes were then set on his for just a slightly moment before she bowed slightly and rushed away. She pushed every single thought away from her mind until she reached the shop. Pascal had already left for his deliveries so she was free of having to explain her frightened and disheveled condition. She hid the peonies under the counter and put her head in her hands.

Guenièvre sobbed quietly, the thought of nearly being caught at that moment had nearly ripped her to shreds.

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Please please let me know what you think? xx


	2. Chapter II

That night Guenièvre evaded sleep with the image of the officer that she had ran into. She had only glimpsed at him for a second, maybe less, but had remembered his features like they were a memory. Cold, dead eyes drooped at the corners, facial hair well manicured yet gently covering his jaws and cheeks and a soft brown mole on his left cheek, two on his right.

Unable to slumber Guenièvre rolled from her bed and sat herself at her small window table, lighting the burner and made herself some of the tea Pascal had given her for her birthday. It usually rained at night, and at that moment Guenièvre was chilled as her arm was sprinkled on but she was so content in the candle lit darkness that she disregarded her goosebumps and settled in her chair and closed her eyes.

* * *

A gust of wind awoke Guenièvre with a jump. It was still dark outside which meant she hadn't slept too long after all. She sighed and dressed herself quickly and left her room with the slam of her door.

* * *

"Good morning, Guenièvre." Pascal greeted her when she arrived in the shop. "Only one order was sent for today." She sighed and thanked the heavens for such luck. She had never been so exhausted in her life. She figured she should be used to it by now, she hadn't been able to sleep for most of the month.

"Where to?"

"It's a large order, but still. I need you to take six dozen irises to this address by eleven." Pascal handed Guenièvre the booklet and she nodded, beginning to pack her basket.

"Have any of my honey jars sold?"

"Oh yes! I've sold five of them already!" Guenièvre smiled brightly. She had expected them to sell fast, as honey was not extremely common in Paris, nor at such a low price either.

On her trek to her delivery destination she had to pass the jails, which frightened her to no end. The ominous stone-layed building stood tall and wide and Guenièvre made certain not to make eye-contact with any of the guards. On her way back she took another route through the not-so-particularly safe side of Pairs, but she risked it. She just had to keep to herself and no one would bother her.

Guenièvre took her time, though. As she didn't have to get back to the shop for another hour and she was contented to walking amongst Paris' cobbled streets. She moseyed around the market to waste more time. The weather was chilly and the air still; thick grey clouds were all that ever seemed to be looming over this side of Paris.

Guenièvre was picking through some fruit when she heard the shuffle behind her. Two men were attacking each other. One had a knife and the other had nothing to defend him but his fists. Within seconds she heard hooves clinking and clamoring down the road, at the sound of this the two men stopped their fighting immediately and jumped apart. Guenièvre watched as a man dismounted his horse and approached the two men.

"What is the cause of this?" The men were silent, "Be swift, we haven't got all day." And as the two men babbled Guenièvre heard two men talking from her side.

"That's the new inspector. He's called Javert. He's ruthless, merciless, them two will be lucky if they ever see the sun again for the next three years." Guenièvre mumbled, "Javert" trying the man's name out on her lips. Inspector Javert was stout and his eyes were stern. This was the same man that she had ran into the other day. Suddenly her heart began racing and she couldn't move, but nor could she take her eyes off him.

When the spat was settled Javert led an officer to arrest one of them and glanced around at everyone watching. They all looked away at the thought of catching his eye but Guenièvre, she was still frozen and Javert stopped his eyes and looked at her for a short moment before he jumped on his horse and rode away with the other officers.

Guenièvre breathed in heavily and ran back to the shop, barricading herself at the door before catching her breath. Her hand slid over her mouth as she let out a sob.

But then, she stopped. A breath in, a breath out and she was okay. As long as she didn't slip up when she did her nightly work, she'd be fine.

...

At around three Guenièvre began to get the shop ready to close for her break. With her back to the door she slipped her coat on, slid the keys in her pocket, but when she turned around to head for the door she was violently taken by surprise and yelped at the figure in front of her.

Inspector Javert stood in the shop, unmoving, with his hands behind his back.

"I'm sorry, Inspector, you frightened me. I—I didn't hear you come in."

"My apologies, madame."

"What may I help you with, monsieur Inspector?" Guenièvre eyed his unbuttoned uniform underneath a dark wool coat. She suspected he was off duty at the moment.

"Oh, forgive me for intruding, you seem to be closing."

"Oh, no, not closing. I was just going to take a break, but I can surely help you out quickly." She smiled and took off her coat. "Were you looking for a certain kind of flower?"

Javert cleared his throat and looked around, "Actually, I was told that I could get a small jar of honey here. I'm told it is the best." Guenièvre's smiled broadened.

"Yes, you can, Inspector! Hand dripped, sweetened as well, by my own hands."

"You keep the bees, madame?"

"I keep them and, they keep me...I actually have just one jar left, if you would like it." Javert smirked for his own comfort and dug into his pocket. "Oh, no, monsieur. Please, you don't need to pay me."

Javert looked uncertain, "I do not need your charity, girl."

"You are an officer of the law. You protect me, one of the many, against all things wrong, perhaps one of the few that actually recognize it in this city. It is the least I could do to begin to repay such an altruistic act...Please?" Guenièvre saw his eyes soften as he nodded.

"Very well. Merci beacoup, madame..."

"Guenièvre. Just Guenièvre."

"Well, thank you very much, madame Guenièvre." She nodded and wrapped the jar in some brown paper and tied twine around it. Her hands shook from her nerves and she tried not to let it show but she knew Javert had seen her quivering fingers but gave no mind to it.

"You're very welcome." She smiled, breathing in, and placed the jar in his hands. He nodded once more and left the shop.

The moment the door had shut Guenièvre breathed in quickly and slipped from the stool onto the floor. She closed her eyes and saw his face, the inspector surrounded in wool and honey. His eyes, they stung her. Yet his eyes were kind. The eyes she saw not moments ago were different than the ones she saw on the street. On the street they were emotionless, dark, and concise; in the shop she noticed they were sad, so sad but lighter even in the darkened shop.

Guenièvre sat back up at the counter and began drawing and writing until Pascal came back. When Guenièvre told Pascal that the inspector had came into the shop he had said that he didn't get a good feeling from him, that he gave off a dark aura that made him uncomfortable. Guenièvre couldn't help but disagree, but she kept her opinion in her mind, because despite being completely terrified of Javert's title and position, the man himself seemed solemn and desolate and that was what intrigued her.


	3. Chapter III

Hey there, lovely readers. This one's going to be a short one but please please let me know what you think?

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Guenièvre had been trying to forget the inspector's eyes, yet him and his eyes seemed to be the only thing worth thinking about. And preoccupying her mind with the stone-faced man helped her forget this new found sadness, but she knew it'd only be for a short period of time before it came back.

Through her seven deliveries she had spied the inspector several times throughout the city. Guenièvre felt odd, like she was stalking him although that was not her intention. And she thought then, that maybe it was not _her_ following him, but 'twas him following her. Then she thought herself absurd for thinking of such a thing. She was always careful, too careful, in the night during her robberies, no one could know her. Not even the tentative Inspector Javert.

…

Four days later Inspector Javert arrived in the shop, careful to open the door wide enough to hit the bell so his presence would be known to Guenièvre. She yelled from the back of the shop, "Be right there!" And in a few moments she came out from the back with both her arms full of white and pink lilies. Her

breath caught and she grew suddenly cold as her heart skipped and pounded violently in her throat. She smiled though, setting the flowers in their arranged place.

"How are you today, m'sieur Inspector?" He looked at her with raised eyebrows and blinked several times, as though he was not used to being asked such a thing.

"I—I am fine. And yourself, Madame Guenièvre?"

As she fixed a few of the lilies she smiled that he remembered her name. "I am well." She approached him, looking up into his eyes. His eyes, she thought, in the light his eyes had stars in them. "Did you enjoy the honey?"

Javert nodded somewhat guiltily, "I did indeed."

Guenièvre walked behind the counter and grabbed a jar. Her hands still shook from her nervous gut and before she could step out she dropped the jar and it shattered into several pieces, and the honey leaking everywhere. She sighed as she bent down to retrieve the broken glass but Javert's thick hands had already began collecting them.

"Thank you, Inspector." She took her apron off and let him drop the pieces into the bundle as he chuckled.

"Of course." He said as he watched Guenièvre wipe the honey from the stone floor with her trembling hands. "Are you all right, Mademoiselle?" Guenièvre looked at him in confusion and his eyes led her to her hands.

"Oh, um—"

"I frighten you, don't I?" His voice was deep, rough, so low Guenièvre could almost feel it in her own chest.

"Your uniform frightened me. _You, _M'sieur Javert, do not. I believe I am shaking...because your presence unnerves me in the slightest way, but in the goodest of slight ways that may be." She looked at him, his eyes were hard on her and his expression was unreadable and Guenièvre quickly regretted saying anything at all. "I am sorry—"

"No, it's..."

Guenièvre grabbed a jar and wrapped it quickly and handed it off to him. "Let me know what you think of this batch. I was quite on the fence about it's sweetness, but I found that if you spread it on a small cracker you won't wish to eat anything different." Javert's hand wrapped around the jar and brushed her fingers and nodded.

"Thank you." He said, almost uncertain but still in his stern way. He watched her for a moment before turning around and walked out the door. Guenièvre ran to the window to watch him walk down the road. He strode with such pride that it was almost annoying. Almost.

Guenièvre clinched her hands in her dress and grunted as she grabbed the nearest vase and flung it into the wall. It was only time until Javert suspected her of something more than nerves.


	4. Chapter IV

_I must say I'm quite disappointed that there haven't been many reviews for this story. I know there are people reading this story, _please_ let me know what you think or else I don't have much to go on! I will love you all just the same._

* * *

The lock pick was stuck. Guenièvre's heart sunk, her fingers shook from the pounding in her stomach, coated in thick soot making it difficult to grip the lead. She shook it slightly and it still stuck, like someone was holding onto it from the other side. A small grunt and the delicate thing broke off in her fingers.

"_Merde!_" She muttered and stuck her smaller lead into the lock to retrieve the broken end. She only wanted to steal the family's jewels not lock them in their house. When Guenièvre felt like she nearly had it she felt a gun on the back of her neck.

"Do not move." Javert's dark, dark growl made Guenièvre's entire body stiffen, a chill vulgarized her skin. Her irons fell from her hands and landed with several clinks on the ground.

Guenièvre squeezed her eyes shut and she knew if she didn't do something quickly, Javert would take her away. She couldn't let him see her face, not under any circumstance.

Breathing out Guenièvre whispered, "Forgive me, Javert," in the hushest of tones. Her teeth gritted together, back hunched and she placed her palms on the surface of the door.

"Turn around, thief." Guenièvre breathed in and quickly pushed against the door as hard and as swift as her arms could force and slid backwards through Javert's legs. She stood up quickly and, although guilt she would soon feel, she grabbed his neck and forced his head into the door with deep thud and the wood split under his forehead.

While this did not knock him out it very clearly disoriented Javert and gave Guenièvre enough time to barely escape. She hid in the shadows of an alley as she watched the inspector rush around the street, his gun in his hand ready to fire. As he headed towards her shadow she leaned into the wall of the alley, concealing herself easily. Javert stopped just at the corner not two feet from her and breathed out, a pained look on his face.

Guenièvre had thought it rather easy to outwit the inspector, too easy it was that it made her think that his thoughts were consumed with something other than his unbreakable loyalty to the law. As Javert's breath exited his mouth with a slight cloud she saw his eyes close and open slowly as he put his gun back on his belt. He touched his forehead, most likely where it had collided with the door and saw him give the tiniest wince at the unexpected pain. Guenièvre suddenly felt extremely disgusted with herself and right there made herself swear that if she were to ever get caught by Javert again, to just let him take her away. It did not matter where she was anymore. She didn't matter to society like he did. And she couldn't will herself to hurt him again.

It took all her self-control not to come out from the shadows right then. All she had to do was take one step and she'd be out in the light right by his side. But Javert walked on before she could do such a rash thing and she wondered then why he had given up so easily. Guenièvre felt an earnest interest in Javert and wanted to know what had him so distracted. Rumors have him chiseled to an unrelenting, merciless hound. But to her he hardly barked.

Guenièvre walked back to her flat across town and started up her fireplace. She undressed herself, stripping the men's clothing from her body and folding them into a hat box she hid behind a vent in the wall. She drug her copper tub out from the pantry and filled it slowly with the hot water that steamed above the fire. She didn't even bother adding any oils before she settled into the warmth, and when she did, the insurmountable guilt suddenly consumed her like fire.

She shouldn't have felt so bad for hurting the inspector because it had to be done. _But had it?_ She thought. _Did I have to run away?_

Guenièvre had never particularly enjoyed thieving jewels and precious things from the barons of Paris, even if it was only a little bit at a time. At first she did it to pay off a debt to her landlord and to survive. Now, since working for Pascal, she just sold them to who ever would take them and kept the bills hidden away in her flat. She didn't know why. Perhaps she did it because she was quite good at it. Often it made her pride grow but now it was just a dull activity she felt she couldn't escape from indulging in. Guenièvre knew this was the source of her sadness. She wanted to be finished with this line of work, stay at the flower shop and live her quiet life alone.

But indulgences were not easily halted and she did not know if she could stop. This evening should be enough reason for her to stop. She'd almost been caught by Javert, a man whom she feared, but also a man whom she feared she was attracted to. And she had injured him just to save herself. She should have let Javert take her away. She should have.

Guenièvre was raised by her gitane mother, but all the while under the morals of a good human. Her mother taught her right from wrong and what she was doing was most definitely wrong. She sighed, running her fingers through her hair and washing herself clean.

At her table she sat looking out into the Paris night and was again overwhelmed when the sun began to peak through the skyline. Guenièvre knew what she had to do. She could not sit around delivering flowers to people she planned to burgle.

Her quill was to parchment faster than her thoughts could comprehend. She could not deal with this guilt, especially with the new guilt of harming a man of the law, no matter how menial the wound. Javert would have to take her away, she had to let him.

* * *

When Javert walked into the flower shop the next morning he didn't have the slightest clue as to why he had, or what his purpose was being there. But he only knew that the mere thought of seeing the young woman behind the counter hauled him through the door. Behind the counter though, he saw the small Indian man, Pascal, arranging flowers in a vase. When Pascal saw the inspector, he did not try to hide his disgust. Javert was so used to that expression it registered as nothing more than an acknowledgment of his presence.

Javert looked around the small shop and saw a small indent in the wall above table and beneath were scraps of glass. He pondered on that momentarily before Pascal questioned him.

"Can I help you, Inspector?"

He thought for a moment, "Is your assistant in by any chance?"

"She's out delivering."

"Might I ask when she shall return?"

Pascal sighed, "She's usually back before two. But here, she left this for you, in case you were to come by..." He reached under the counter and held out a folded note.

Javert took it with slow caution, "Thank you." He said, uncertain of his own words and actions. He slipped the note into his breast pocket and left the store slowly and went out onto the street.

* * *

When he was back in his office he took the note out and set it on his desk. It sat there for ten minutes, Javert's eyes watching it like a criminal; like it was to get up and do a small dance in mockery if he were to look away.

The thunder out his window made his mind jolt back onto the issue he was now faced. Javert was uncertain as to the things this letter could hold. This letter could abolish his fascination with Guenièvre, and could let him focus on his job, or it could ruin him, let him succumb to a compassion he did not know he could feel.

Still unsure at his age on how to feel with a woman was surprising to him. He'd had many women in his younger days while he was merely a guard at the jail but had dropped notice of women when he grew more serious about his duty as he held more power. Now, at the height of his stature, he had stumbled upon small, gentle Guenièvre of the floral shop, only intending to purchase her honey and be gone. But she had given him the honey, a gift to repay him herself for protecting the city. He was disconcerted by her assertion. But when he watched her wrap the jar in the paper he saw her hands shaking just slightly. He watched her bite the corner of her lip and watched her nearly draw blood. Javert knew then that she was similar to the people he'd met in the past but he uncharacteristically respected the young woman for keeping her full composure and a smile on her face.

The second time he saw her, he saw her eyes and remembered seeing those eyes on the street not long before. He'd helped her pick up the broken glass, he examined her eyes, her skin, her hair, her body and the respect he had for her grew into something akin to admiration. And when he saw her hands shaking, he could not stop himself from asking her about it. Guenièvre's response rendered him stunned. She was afraid of the inspector, not of Javert. She did not see him as the inspector, she simply saw it as his job. This, amongst many of his broodings was one he pondered for a considerable period of time. She was unnerved by him just as he was her, a touch of delicacy he felt of her fingertips and wondered how a creature so small could mean so much.

Javert's fingers traced over the ink on the letter, _'Inspector Javert' _it read. He opened it slowly, his hands slow and precise in breaking the seal and opening the letter. He then began to read.

_Dear Inspector,_

_ I must speak with you immediately of a very important matter, but I must do so in person and in private. Meet me at my home, Romani Place in room 9 on the third floor whenever is most convenient for you. I very much look forward to your arrival._

_Yours,_

_Guenièvre_

_ P.S. You know the neighborhood, so dress accordingly._


	5. Chapter V

_Thank you all for reviewing! It has made me so happy! I'm glad people actually like this story. : ) Please continue to tell me what you think. This is going to be another short chapter but I should upload chapter six tonight. _

* * *

In his domestic clothing, Javert walked through the dirty street to Romani Place late in the evening. He was again stunned that such a respectable, working class woman lived in such an awful neighborhood, he wondered how she survived these streets or that if she ever had to face them.

He kept himself hid when entering the building but then realized how quiet the building was. It was almost completely silent save for the rain fall outside. He walked up two flights of steps and into a dark hall way just barely lit by candles on the walls. When he arrived at Guenièvre's door he paused. He still knew not what he was doing or what to expect but this problem had to be resolved, in one way or another.

Javert knocked three times quietly, he was surprised by his gentleness. Within moments the door was opened slightly and then opened more to reveal Guenièvre, in her subtle glory. Without words she gestured him in. Javert walked around the small flat, eyeing her lit fireplace, her wall of windows, her bed, her wardrobe, her table, her pantry. He saw a sketchbook on her table and wondered what she had been drawing. His eyes fell on her, clad in a nightgown that hung on her shoulders, revealing her collarbones and Javert then wondered how long it'd been since she'd eaten. But she was silent, a soft glance or two but no more did her eyes meet his. He was the first to speak.

"Your letter spoke of an important matter, madame. Is the law something that needs to be involved?" Javert watched her light a few candles as she stayed silent. She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and shook her head. The candlelights softening and bringing an orange hue to her otherwise dark blonde hair, held up indolently by pins that were hardly noticeable in her mess of curls.

Guenièvre walked up to him, her bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor.

"I've brought you here as a sort of experiment, to see if you really would come, and if you did, then I would know...I can't believe you actually came." Her voice was so unsure it made Javert very uneasy.

"Is it such a stretch to believe?" He asked.

Guenièvre shrugged and turned around, "I was just afraid I'd be sitting up waiting for you to arrive until the dawn...Inspector, I have something to confess..."

Javert walked around her so he was in front of her, "I regret I have a confession of my own." Guenièvre looked up at him, confusion knitted in her brow.

"What is it?"

"...I fear I've become distracted from my work-...my duty." He corrected himself and paused, shocking himself by his own words, "So distracted I nearly lost sight of everything and let a criminal escape from my grasp, regrettably; effortlessly did they run off last night." Guenièvre's eyes were tied to the floor.

"What distracts you so, Inspector?" Her eyes strained to glance up at him and saw Javert's were set on hers, that still ocean inside them that mystified her so dearly.

"You." Guenièvre's eyes widened but never left his. When he approached her slowly, her eyes shot down to her feet and she felt herself nervous and afraid and confused. Javert raised her head up and kept his eyes to hers. She could not help herself but to say what she'd thought.

"Your eyes...They appear so sad to me...Sad eyed Javert." Guenièvre spoked quietly, adjusting the blanket around her.

"How do they seem so?"

"When I look in the mirror I see those same eyes and all I can see is the sadness that plagues me." But the thought of Javert made it better. He made her feel better.

"Why?"

"Why am I sad?" Javert nodded his gentle, curt nod, "Because...I am alone and because I have no one. And something tells me you know exactly what I mean."

"...You have the grand advantage of youth, mademoiselle. I, however, do not. Which is why I have taken it upon myself to comply strictly with the moral law and forgetting my...emotions." Guenièvre looked down at her hands and held in a sad sigh. "But as I have said...there is you who distracts me from continuing my duty."

Guenièvre muttered quietly, "I am very sorry." And by her very heart that then fluttered, Javert chuckled a laugh that filled her inside with the air to go on.

"Do not apologize for being so mysterious, mademoiselle. It is—" Javert's words grew silent as Guenièvre's lips fell onto his so quickly, and gingerly that he could hardly feel her there, but he did. Her blanket fell to her feet as she grabbed his lapels with both hands and pulled him to her. Javert's arms wrapped tightly around her and kissed her with more power than he had ever felt consume him before. She knocked his hat from his head as her fingers grazed through his short, greying locks.

Guenièvre began pulling Javert to her bed as she removed his coat. They fell into her blankets and sheets and began kissing all over again. Javert's hands were at her waist, then her back and up until he touched the bare skin of her shoulder blades. Her skin was softer than any woman's skin he'd felt, and as he grasped and kissed her shoulders she made sounds more beautiful than any woman he'd ever heard make. Gently though, they both eventually stopped kissing and simply held onto each other.


	6. Chapter VI

_Hello there lovely readers! I feel I must defend my story after a few unsavory reviews that were obviously written with half a mind but have since been deleted. But that's besides the point, I really just want to say that the reason my version of Javert may seem OOC is not because of lack of research or grasp of the character, I just beg you to ponder on the situation Javert is going through in this story. I am trying to write this in a way that I'm certain would happen given his character. I have thrust love upon a loveless man; a man who has never really experienced love at all, of course it's going to be out of character because the only side of Javert that we really see is the vengeful, obsessed, and duty-driven Inspector. What I am proposing through this story is what would happen if, by some strange occurrence, love and infatuation was to mercilessly grasp Javert by the throat, leaving him confused and fueled by the primitive need for intimacy when it is at his fingertips. _  
_It is upsetting that I have to defend a fanfiction such as this one, but I shall do so any way. But to those of you who are liking my story, I sincerely hope you continue to enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it. _

* * *

Javert jolted awake in a sudden haste and it took him several moments to figure out where he was. He was in a bed, a soft and warm bed. And then he remembered. He had kissed Guenièvre. He had kissed her and he had stayed the night with her, what had he done? How could he have done this? Javert was still in his clothes, even his boots were still on, slightly dirtying the cream coloured sheets. He sat up quickly and looked to his side. Guenièvre wasn't there.

It was dawn and so it was dark but he couldn't feel her presence next to him. He sighed. He'd ruined himself and he'd ruined any chance he had with Guenièvre. But she had kissed him first, had she not? Was it then his duty as a suitor and as a man to fulfill the duty of satisfying that needy urge of contact? He'd known Guenièvre for several months now, certainly this was acceptable. But why was she not at his side?

Javert held his head in his hands as he felt a cold draft of wind from the window. He spotted his coat thrown on the floor, pulled it on, and climbed out the window after he spotted Guenièvre.

Outside she sat, wrapped in a blanket with her eyes closed at the edge of the stone balcony. He slowly walked up behind her. Guenièvre felt his presence, his warmth behind her and she leaned back into his chest. Javert stepped back slightly, unexpecting of her contact. She shivered and he figured that the thin blanket she held around her wasn't stopping the wind from chilling her bones. Hesitantly Javert's arms wrapped around her, an attempt to offer his warmth and he silently rested his forehead on the top of her head, her hair whipping around his face from the wind.

"Good morning," she said.

"Morning." Javert's throat scratched with his first words of the day, he cleared his throat quickly, "What are you doing out here?"

"The air helps me think."

"What plagues you, Guenièvre?" She smiled hearing him speak her name, she could never hear another word again if it was not spoken by Javert.

"My heart."

Guenièvre moved Javert's hand onto her chest, laying it flat over her heart gently. Javert felt her skin, soft and cold and he felt uncomfortable touching her this way. She then pressed it harder down so he could feel her heartbeats that were so strong, so fast he could hardly separate them in his mind. Javert found this strange that she was still so nervous around him, even when he wasn't wearing his uniform.

"Your heart is in rhythm with mine. I don't believe it's stopped racing since last night." He said. Guenièvre turned herself around and sat in front of him, her hands on his chest she too felt his heart racing and she smiled at this.

She stood then and led Javert back inside. At the couch, he watched Guenièvre start the fire slowly and she sat down in front of it. Javert watched her snuggle into her blanket and crawl next to him on the couch. She looked liked she was about to kiss him, but then stopped.

"I cannot believe you are letting me do this..." She laughed slightly and leaned back, "It was just yesterday I called on you to..."

Javert sat up, "Why did you call on me?"

"...you know, I don't hardly remember now. What I was really wanting to say, has already been spilled." Javert's hand wrapped around hers as he kissed her knuckles and smiled under them, an act Guenièvre would never think she'd ever see; a smile from Javert.

Javert thought then that although their relations did not proceed through the clothing, it didn't need to. And he himself could not believe that he was letting this woman take hold of him with such ease and such fervor. But he did, and he wished for nothing more than to return such intimacy, but he did not know how. He did not know when to kiss her, or when to touch her. Last night was a first for him and even then he did not feel in control of his actions, in kissing her he did what his body had told him to do, but his body was not always on alert like his mind was. And his mind did not know such subtleties.

Guenièvre had fallen asleep quickly on his chest and Javert slowly lifted her head to a pillow. He stood and straightened his coat and slipped on his hat. He turned around and noticed Guenièvre had woken and watched him like a spy from behind the couch, and his thoughts never faltered.

"Will I see you again today?" She asked.

"I've no doubt you will find me." He said as he walked to the back of the couch and knelt down so his eyes were level with hers, her sharp green eyes. He'd never noticed just how sharp her eyes were, how alert and daring they seemed. Even then, when she had bits of hair falling down over them.

"Come into the shop this afternoon?" Javert nodded, his hand brushing the hair from her forehead.

"I'll be there."

And then Javert stood and left Guenièvre to her thoughts and even a small nap. As he exited the building he ducked his head low at a few strangers walking by, hoping to hide his face from any questions. And as we walked on the distracted inspector failed to see three men in the corner alley watching him in silent anticipation.

* * *

Guenièvre stepped out of the flower shop and locked the door behind her. She froze when she heard something behind her. Footsteps? She couldn't distinguish the sound.

"Hello?" She looked around wildly at an empty street. She sighed after hearing nothing but the slight rain drizzle and began to walk down the dark street, clutching her coat around herself. She'd taken a while after closing the shop to take all the flowers back into the freezer, longer than she usually had and for that she blamed the reoccurring, torturous thought of meeting Javert at any moment, crippled by sadness when he had not come. But it was fine, he had more important things to do than to interact with her. And it was better that he was not constantly there, at least for now, so she had time to figure out what to do about her nightly habit before it became a serious problem hiding it from Javert.

And just as her thoughts switched to Javert and his face she heard more footsteps behind her. She froze. But her eyes searched for anything to protect herself with. Just ahead of her she saw a rather large rock in the sidewalk. So she began to walk forward slowly when the footsteps stopped close behind her. As she approached the rock she kicked it up with her foot and caught it casually with her hand, hopefully hiding this from her stalker. Guenièvre held the rock tightly in her hand and as the footsteps were very close behind her she whipped around with the rock raised only to be met by Javert who caught her hand swiftly.

"Guenièvre—my god, woman." Guenièvre let out haggard breath, dropped the rock, and clung to him as a form of a silent apology and she had also been relatively scared out of her wits. "What are you doing out so late?"

"I ran late at the shop. I'm sorry I nearly hit you, I've just been hearing these sounds since I closed, I thought someone was following me."

Javert pulled her from his chest, "What sort of sounds?"

"Oh, it's just me being paranoid, nothing more...How long had you been following me?"

"I was just walking down the alley not a moment ago before I approached you." Guenièvre thought for a moment, she knew she'd heard the footstep earlier than that. They must have stopped when they'd seen Javert. She was thankful, but also not, as she wanted to know who was following her. But she pushed that from her mind and sighed.

"Walk me home?"

Javert nodded and held out his arm. She took it and was thankful for his warmth.

"You look very tired." Javert had said when the door had closed behind him at her flat.

"I don't feel very tired." She said, taking her coat off.

"...how often do you sleep, Guenièvre?" She didn't answer as she loaded firewood and started a small flame. "I should let you get your rest, it is very late." And as Javert started to walk toward the door he felt Guenièvre's hand on his arm. He turned around.

"Most nights I have trouble sleeping...won't you spend tonight with me?"


	7. Chapter VII

_I really hope you all do enjoy this one! _

* * *

At the flower shop Guenièvre sat, sketching and trying to keep from the cold that came in through the cracks in the door. She would soon grow colder, missing the harrowing warmth of Javert's touch. Pascal came into the shop to collect more deliveries and left soon after without a word. She couldn't tell if he was upset with her or if he was just being Pascal and stuck inside his mind at the time. Guenièvre payed no mind to it and started going through the flowers in the back freezer, retrieving a few dahlias, two pink and a white. She pulled her hair up and slipped the white one behind her ear, grinning at her reflection in the window.

The bell jingled and she looked up to see Javert. He was in his uniform, the royal blue coat that made him so defined, his hat and a truncheon under his arm.

"Hello there. Might I help you, sir?" Guenièvre smiled, hoping to greet him with enough silliness to lighten his mood.

Javert smiled, and nodded, "Yes actually, I am looking for a flower." He brushed his hand across Guenièvre's cheek and over the pedals of the dahlia. "Do you think you could help me with that?"

"I believe I can." Guenièvre picked up a pink dahlia bud, cut it off close to the stem and grabbed a small pin. She approached Javert, setting the flower behind the lapel at his breast, pinning it safely to his jacket and flattening it done. "Now you have a bit of me close to your heart, and no one will know but you."

"I shall cherish it." He smirked and lifted his hand with the truncheon. "I've brought this for you."

"What am I going to do with this?" She said taking it from him, feeling it's weight in her hand, really wanting to hit something with it.

"I brought it for you to protect yourself." Guenièvre laughed slightly.

"Thank you but..." She walked behind the counter and pulled out a pistol, "Pascal's got three of these behind here."

Javert smirked, a snug, all-knowing smirk, "Yes, well," he walked behind her, picking up the truncheon and placing it in her hand, "when guns fail or run out of bullets, which they so often tend to do, you are left with your fists. With this, you'll have the advantage." His hand wrapped around her upper arm, "I noticed your arm the other night, I've no doubt you could cause some serious damage given the right perpetrator."

"You think so?" Guenièvre felt guilty and self-conscious as she dropped the truncheon on the counter. She had experience with using a weapon like this before. When she was a teenager she had beaten a man unconscious who tried to rape her. She'd used the leg of a cart. But Guenièvre didn't prefer to relive that moment. Javert nodded.

"And I believe it is small enough to hide in your dress when you're out at night."

Guenièvre chuckled slightly, "Expecting danger in the near future, Inspector?"

"You can never be too careful, Guenièvre." She smiled and kissed the hand he held on her arm.

"Come see me tonight?"

"I have a late watch, but I shall be there. You have my word." Guenièvre kissed his hand again. Javert kissed her forehead twice. "Goodbye."

"Bye."

Javert walked out slowly and Guenièvre jumped to the window again to see him walk away. She laughed when he looked back at the store window and grinned slightly knowing she was watching him. His walk no longer seemed pompous to Guenièvre, but a walk with a purpose that she had grown to admire in the past year.

* * *

"Inspector! Inspector!" A young, frightened man called from down the street, the darkness concealing him in a silhouette until Javert ran forward.

"What is it? What has happened?" Javert only hoped that it was something menial that he could handle on his own as he was alone on patrol this evening.

The boy fought to breathe but he got out: "There's been a fight—I-I don't really know what's happened but there's a woman that's been injured. She's barely alive."

Javert grew alert and looked directly at the boy, "Where?"

"About three roads from here, just down the road of the flower shop." Javert's eyes widened and his blood suddenly felt colder than the air.

"No." Javert ran as fast as he could with the boy just at his tail. "Did you see what had happened, boy?"

"No sir, me mum and I just stumbled acrost her, sir. She said to go get you, that you were close by."

Javert knew something was going to happen, he could feel it in his gut when he had woken up.

He stopped in front of the flower shop and spotted the truncheon he'd given Guenièvre earlier that day, it was worn badly and with closer inspection he saw blood and short hairs on the end of it. "Are you sure she was here? Where is she?"

"She was here when I left, Inspector, I swear. I had me mum watch her while I fetched you," the boy confessed.

"Phillip!"

"Mum!" And old woman ran up to the young boy and began mumbling about the woman.

"Where has she gone?" Javert interrupted her.

"I do not know, sir, sh—she was lyin' just there, I was tryin' t' stop the blood and I turned around an' she was just gone, sir. I don't know where she went!" The old woman babbled on about the blood when Javert saw a large, dark puddle and drips around it and drips leading down the road. He took off toward them until he'd passed several streets and the blood stopped.

"No, no. Guenièvre! Guenièvre!" After several moments of silence Javert turned back down the road, but then he stopped and shot his head around at the sound of a pained, muffled cry.

He found Guenièvre in the fetal position, hardly moving, blood pooled around her. She was shaking and her eyes were blinking rapidly, trying to see through the red of the blood dripping into them.

Javert could hardly fathom the amount of blood there was, and even then by how much she left behind, how much she was still losing. He picked her up quickly and she cried out in pain. It was then that he looked down her torso and spotted the bullet holes.


	8. Chapter VIII

Later in that night.

Javert was pulled from his thoughts by a nurses voice when she arrived, carrying a bowl of water and several cloths. She said quietly that she still needed to clean the wound on Guenièvre's shoulder and clean the dirt and blood from her face.

"I'll do that." He told her in a gruff, tired voice. She nodded, leaving the water and cloth with him. After he removed his coat, he slowly began to clean the knife wound from her shoulder that led down to her collarbone. Javert was suddenly frightened by the extent of the gash. Her skin was ripped open and while the blood had clotted it would still take a toll on her strength and would most definitely leave a scar. Worry no longer strained Javert, as he was assured that Guenièvre would _indeed_ survive, but was replaced by seamless questions and thoughts of why this had happened.

Javert wiped the soot and blood from her face, but it only seemed to be replaced with bruises that appeared beneath the dirt. He felt as if he was just a hurt as she was, seeing the bruises on her face angered him, he didn't even want to think about the condition of the rest of her body.

He stopped his thoughts momentarily and rested the cold cloth on her forehead for comfort. He leaned back in his chair and watched her. Javert wanted so badly to hold her hand, but her knuckles were so bruised and cut up he figured with his large, burly hands he'd only hurt her more.

It was his fault this had happened, Guenièvre lying there; half alive and whimpering in her sleep—his fault, it had to be. Men—his enemies, no doubt, had most likely seen them together, used poor Guenièvre to get back at him. Had Javert only stayed with her tonight instead of returning to his look out—he could have saved her. Luckily the boy and his mother had found her in time and called for him, had she laid on the street any longer she would have—

Javert closed his eyes. There she was. Guenièvre. A poor but respectable woman that he found undeniably alluring and he himself undeserving of her such presence. And he had ruined her. Was his duty so worth risking the life of poor Guenièvre? She had known of the risk she was taking becoming close to him, but why had he let her? Javert knew something like this would happen. He had too many enemies and he could not be at every corner of Paris at every moment. Protecting her seemed hopeless.

Loud, heaving footfalls called Javert from his thoughts and he raced to one of his junior officers with a small boy, no older than ten, at his side.

"Inspector?"

"Yes?"

"This child, he came to the jail, he said he saw everything that happened."

Javert bent down to the boy's height, "Is this true, boy? You saw everything?"

"Yes M'sieur, Inspector. I even know the men that did it, sir."

Javert's eyes widened and he looked up at the officer quickly, "Leave us."

* * *

"Every night I see Miss Guenie leave the flower shop when the sun goes down, she gave me a left over flower to give to me dying mum but she'd been late last night so I sat outside waitin' for her. Pretty soon these three guys come walkin' passed the shop, lookin' in and talkin' to each offer. They do that four times before they hide in the alley acrost the street. I hid 'neath one of the tables, they had scared me somethin' awful and I was small enough so they couldn't see me. And when Guenièvre came out they ran toward her, they called her awful things sir, things I would never say to people I hated. They talked to her about you, m'sieur, they said it was a message for you as two of them held onto her and the one that talked punch her in the stomach." Javert squeezed his hands together, waiting for this part of the boy's story, "But she got away from the two men and pulled this stick from her dress and started beating one of the men wif it. She was really strong, Inspector, I'd never seen a woman hit like that b'fore. But one fella grabbed her from behind and slit her shoulder open pretty badly. It bled all the way down her dress. But she hit him too, with just her bare hands until he grabbed her arm and twisted it around and that's when one of them shot her, m'sieur. And even though she was shot she still kicked the man over that held her and hit the gun man with her stick. But he shot her again and that's when she went down. The men left as quickly as they came when they heard people walkin' down the road. That's when I ran too, ran straight to the jail to get you, but you weren't there."

Javert was completely silent, his jaw clinched and his hands wrung through each other until his skin was white. "You...you said you knew the men that did this..."

"Yes, Inspector, it was the Jannis brothers and their cousin Vermeen Dulaunc."

* * *

After Javert had insured Guenièvre's complete safety he left the hospital, out for the criminals that had done this to her. It wasn't until Javert had found Nicholas Jannis in a warehouse just outside Paris a day later that he fully recognized what he was doing. But he could not just stop there. And it hadn't been difficult to find him either. His brother and cousin died the night before. Blunt head trauma, he said, from Guenièvre's blows. Javert smiled to himself when he heard this, Guenièvre was a sharp one, if only she hadn't been out numbered she might have gotten away with just a few scrapes and bruises. But she hadn't and Javert, forgetting all his other duties, sought out to find the men that had harmed the woman with whom he loved.

Javert had Nicholas tied to a chair, using as much self control as he could will not to begin throwing punches. He paused in front of the man staring at him.

"Now you've got my attention, Inspector, what ever do you want it for?" He growled sarcastically and smiled at Javert. Dirt and grease smeared across the man's face, stings of what little hair he still had were plastered to his forehead, the sweat giving him away.

"You want to know what I want your attention for? You beat a young woman, beat her until near death and what for? To get to Javert? Well you have him." Javert grabbed the man's shirt, pulling him up with the chair, "Were you not man enough to face me yourself? Scum like you don't deserve to breathe."

"Go ahead, Javert, do it. Kill me."

Javert let out a muffled hmphf and tossed him back down, "If it were up to me," his eyes to his, "I would slaughter you right here like the degenerate pig you are...but since it is my duty as an officer to bring you in to serve your rightful punishment, then so shall it be." Nicholas grew a cocky smirk, "But being Inspector I doubt I shall be questioned on the condition of my prisoner once given up, as long as he can walk..." he paused, "my _duty_ as a _man_ must be fulfilled. Justice shall be sought for your crime, but your punishment must be more severe."


End file.
